


These Helpless Yearnings

by Della19



Series: Pretty Gentleman [4]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Della19/pseuds/Della19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time, it’s accidental.  Lost to adrenaline, Eggsy kissing, kissing, kissing him and Harry, understandably distracted, gets his arms trapped trying to get out of his damn shirt, and finds himself right tangled up.  And then Eggsy is looming behind him, fucking him, in control and Harry is helpless but to just take it, and the next thing he knows he’s coming as hard as he can ever remember.</p><p>And Harry doesn’t give it anymore thought until a week later, when Eggsy lays a red rope on the bed, says slowly, deliberately, “I was wonderin’ if this might be ‘sumthing that might be of interest to you.”</p><p>And Harry, suddenly breathlessly hard realizes, oh, it is.</p><p>Or, the one where Harry has an desire to be dominated, and Eggsy has an desire to dominate him.  Lovely how that works out, isn’t it?  Harry/Eggsy, bdsm, Forth in my Pretty Gentleman series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Helpless Yearnings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own them, to my eternal sadness :(

***************************************

 _“Submission is not about authority and it is not obedience; it is all about relationships of love and respect.”_ ― Wm. Paul Young, The Shack

***************************************

Harry, under his new mantle as Arthur, doesn’t go on many field assignments. It is the necessity of the beast, Harry knows, as the position of Arthur is one of delegation, of leadership, and one cannot do that while ducking bullets. Arthur, the previous Arthur, Harry recalls, had gone on none during his tenure, so it is not that he had not expected a change of pace when he had accepted the position. And he doesn’t even resent the change; any job where he gets to save the world and then go home to his lover and watch disgusting sappy films and make love and be entirely more _happy_ than any man has right to be is aces in Harry’s mind.

All in all, Harry does not regret accepting the position of Arthur.

However, that does not mean that occasionally, Harry assigns himself a mission to stop him from becoming _stir crazy_.

Because, well, Harry isn’t anywhere near the age of dotage yet - he’s an fit, virile man with a set of skills that occasionally require an outlet; an opportunity to ‘let off some steam’ as he once put it. And so, from time to time Harry goes out on an assignment to make sure that he doesn’t let himself _dull_ , so to speak.

That these assignments always seem to be with Eggsy are rather not the point, he rather thinks, though he cannot say that the sight of his lover, sharply focused, all _elegant violence_ and competence does not... _affect_ him. 

The adrenaline rush, Harry knows from experience, is a _beautiful_ thing. That urge to _fight_ or _fuck_ that rages through you filters into something truly special when you are just fresh off a fight, and not in the mood for another one. And honestly, if Harry happens to be in a position to put himself in the way of Eggsy’s post fight rush then well...

Sometimes it is good to be the king, so to speak.

And so, that is how Harry finds himself pushed up against the wall in a hotel in Shanghai, chest _heaving_ not so much from the army of hired goons they have just finished dispatching but because Eggsy, wild eyed and just a little _bloody_ is snogging him like he fears it is going to go out of style, _rutting_ up against him so their erections rub together teasingly, still trapped in their suits.

_Adrenaline_ , Harry thinks, doing his level best to rid Eggsy of his trousers even as his eyes are threatening to _cross_ , his own blood surging powerfully in his own veins, _bloody marvellous thing_.

And then one thing leads to another, and Harry’s liberated of his trousers, and Eggsy’s utterly broken the lamp in dispatching of their shoes, and Harry’s trying to get his shirt off so he can feel the tight, _hard_ little buds of Eggsy’s nipples drag through the hair on his own chest. But Eggsy’s kissing, kissing, _kissing_ him all tongue and _teeth_ , and Harry, understandably distracted, forgets about his cufflinks, still on, and gets his arms trapped trying to get out of his _damned_ shirt, and finds himself right tangled up.

And then Eggsy is looming behind him, turning him to the wall and pressing slick fingers in, in, _in_ , and Harry can’t find it in himself to be too bothered about his bloody shirt. And then Eggsy’s pushing _in_ , and Harry moans at the _burn_ , the _stretch_ of him, always so bloody _perfect_ , before Eggsy _snaps_ his hips back and in, _hard_ , fucking him good and proper. And Harry finds himself _stuck_ there, wanting to reach back, to put his hands on Eggsy, but he _can’t_. All he can do is stand there and know that it’s Eggsy that is in _control_ and Harry who is _helpless_ but to just _take_ it, and then next thing he knows he’s coming as hard as he can ever remember.

_Bloody hell_ , Harry’s fond of adrenaline.

And Harry doesn’t give it any more thought, that feeling of being _trapped_ there, entirely at Eggsy’s _mercy_ until a week later, when Eggsy lays a red rope on the bed, says slowly, _deliberately_ , “I was wonderin’ if this might be ‘sumthing that might be of interest to you.”

And Harry, suddenly _breathlessly_ hard looks at the rope and imagines what it might _feel_ like around his wrists and realizes, _oh, it is_.

***************************************

They end up at the kitchen table, where Eggsy places a cup of tea down in front of him, steeped just as he likes it. The normalcy of it all is terribly grounding, and Harry cannot help but admire the perceptiveness of his lover, the quiet thoughtfulness.

So _beautiful_ , to watch the realization of that potential he saw, right from the very beginning.

“This, I take it, is something you have done before?” Harry starts, taking a fortifying sip of his tea, and it is a genuine, judgement free query. Harry has never held the belief that because Eggsy has come to him with a past it makes what they have together somehow _less_. That Eggsy knows what he likes, had a past and a life before Harry only makes it _more_ precious that he has chosen him to spend however much longer they have with, _never_ less.

“’Tis, on both sides,” Eggsy says, unashamed in the way that Harry loves him to be, because Eggsy never looks better than when he is smiling, secure in his own skin, as he continues, “Not often enough to be a pro at it, ‘cause it takes a level of trust I ain’t had much experience with, but I know the rules, I know how to play safe.”

There are so many _images_ that spring to mind, birthed by that one sentence, so many _questions_ Harry would like to ask.

“What...were you thinking you might like to do?” Harry asks instead slowly, because of all of them, this is the one that matters. And, and although there is a part of him - the part, he rather imagines that let Eggsy push him up against a wall in dressing room one and _ruin_ him with his mouth without any worry - that wonders at his hesitance. The rest of him, however, knows the answer; that this, he thinks, is not so much about sex as it is about _trust_ \- about whether or not he can trust Eggsy with this, with his so masterfully cultivated _control_.

Trust, like he has trusted _no one_ before.

“I was thinkin’ I’d like to tie you to the bed, blindfold ‘ya, and then spank you and fuck you,” Eggsy says casually, intent in his gaze, and he lets it sit a moment, lets Harry process, and so Harry does, takes that moment to imagine that scenario, let it come to _life_ behind his eyes.

Harry _wants_ , in a way he hardly has a name for. To let Eggsy have _reign_ of every part of him, to _give_ him that because he knows that his lover will only treat such a gift with the magnitude and respect that it _deserves_.

To _belong_ to him.

“But we ain’t gotta do nothin’ Harry, if you don’ wanna,” Eggy says, bringing Harry out of his thoughts, deadly serious, and somehow, despite their content, they are only more calming, “You ain’t had the...best experience with losin’ control before to put it _massively_ mild, and I ain’t wanna do nothin’ that’d bring that back.”

_Eggsy_ , Harry thinks of his lover, unbearably fond, _for whom the thought of harming those he loves is an impossibility_. Knowing that, despite Eggsy’s not unrealistic worry, he cannot think of a moment when Valentine’s mind control is further from his mind.

This is Eggsy, after all. It is a distinction that matters.

“It’s just - you seemed to get off on bein’ bound in Shanghai, am I right?” Eggsy asks, honest, partly for reassurance and partly to let it out into the air, to let Harry chose to claim it if he wishes.

“Yes, I did,” Harry says without shame, because he is a man comfortable in his own skin, and because this is _Eggsy_ , and it is still a distinction that matters.

“Could ‘ya see this bein’ ‘sumthing you’d want to try with me?” Eggsy asks, gesturing to the rope and all it represents, and it is an honest query, entirely free of any manipulation or cajoling. It is a choice that Eggsy is letting Harry make, one hundred percent.

And Harry thinks of Eggsy, Eggsy who smiles at him in his bed in the mornings, open and _warm_ , and winks at him while they are fighting off ten mafia goons. Eggsy, who lays his head in Harry’s lap as they watch old spy movies and who slinks into his office on long days and sucks him off, slow and _worshipful_ under his desk. Eggsy, who fucked him _just s_ o in a Shanghai hotel, lithe and powerful and _in control_.

Eggsy, whom he trusts with his very _life_.

“With you...yes,” Harry says, and at Eggsy’s answering smile, so very, very warm and _soft_ , he thinks perhaps he has never meant anything more.

***************************************

“You okay? Not too tight or nothin’?” Eggsy asks him after he has finished tying his knot, running a comforting hand down the naked flesh of Harry’s back. And Harry takes stock of himself; bound to the slats of the headboard, weight resting on his calves, pillows under his chest to counterbalance his position, arse tilted upwards for Eggsy’s pleasure, and he tugs, once, experimentally at the restraints.

They do not give, and Harry’s cock hardens at the realization that the only way he can free himself of them is to ask Eggsy for _permission_. That here, Harry is not in _control_.

“No, this is... _good_ ,” Harry says, voice embarrassingly _rough_ for how early in the proceedings they are, but if Eggsy notices, he does not judge him for it.

“What are your safe words again?” Eggsy asks, for the purpose of repetition, Harry knows, more so than the answer. Eggsy was very clear about the rules of such play before he let them arrive here, and so Harry indulges him for his thoroughness with the correct answer, more comfortable than he had expected to be, “Red, yellow.”

“Good. You need them, for _any_ reason, you use ‘um,” Eggsy says, adamant in his assertions as he stands before Harry, a blindfold of sleek black material in his hands. “Too much, you don’t feel comfortable, you’ve got a cramp, _anything_ , you don’t hesitate to use ‘um, and I’ll stop. You got me?” Eggsy asks seriously, and Harry, Harry who prides himself on his control, Harry who has so much daily responsibility, Harry, who is getting harder every second he realizes that _none_ of those things _matter_ here, bound to the bed at the _mercy_ of his lover, says, “Yes...sir.”

The blindfold slips over his eyes, blocking the the sight of a shirtless Eggsy with a _gleam_ in his eyes, and leaving Harry blind in this new _blackness_. His skin awakens there, in the dark, his ears taking in the minute rustle of Eggsy’s sweatpants as he moves around the bed, his other senses alive in retaliation of the robbing of his vision.

It makes him feel _alive_.

“Good _boy_ ,” Eggsy purrs into the darkness, and Harry, who is twice his lover’s age takes some kind of pride in the affirmation anyways, the casual _ownership_ implied in the term. That he, a man more than two decades Eggsy’s senior is who this beautiful young man wants, has _chosen_ above all others has always been a seductive realization to Harry, and this time it is no different.

And then Eggsy’s open palm comes down on the meat of his arse, and the first _slap_ takes him unaware, more a sting than any true pain - Harry, like all men in his business has a truly impressive pain tolerance - and yet still it has him _jolting_ , hard cock bobbing against his abdomen.

It feels _freeing_.

“What do ‘ya say?” Eggsy chides softly, hand kneading gently into the flesh of Harry’s arse and Harry remembers the _rules_ , says into the darkness that hides his lover from him, voice deferential, “Thank you sir.”

“So good for me,” Eggsy _purrs_ , and the tone, the praise of it is more a reward than the teasingly quick stroke of Harry’s cock he gives him. The second _slap_ follows, echoing loudly into the silence and Harry finds himself tilting _into_ the sting of this one, thanks falling off of his tongue without prompting,  _achingly_ hard in anticipation of the next one.

The world, and all it’s responsibilities has never seemed so far away.

“Did I ever tell you what I figured would happen when I saw you outside that coppers station?” Eggsy asks, after a few more rhythmless _swats_ , voice conversational even as his fingers tease what is now the slightly heated flesh of Harry’s arse.

“No sir,” Harry finds himself saying, even as he’s tilting his hips _up_ , trying in vain to get _closer_ to those teasing fingers.

“I figured you’d sprung me so you could take advantage of my...other skills so to speak, not my spy ones,” Eggsy says, in way that leaves no room for misinterpretation, with another one of those _teasing_ rubs of his cock, before he continues, “Found myself awful disappointed when you didn’t, Kingsman and all. Figures this more than makes up for it though,” Eggsy says, and Harry can _hear_ the bloody cheeky smirk in his voice before it’s drowned out by the  _smack_ of his hand on Harry’s flesh, right over his arsehole.

Harry’s cock is hard enough to pound nails, his breath comes short in his lungs and the blood in his very _veins_ sings with _want_ , but all Harry says is, “Thank you sir.”

And then Eggsy’s hand comes down again, and again and _again_ , until Harry entirely looses count, looses everything in his mind that isn’t _this_ , isn’t him staining against his bonds in vain, not to try to get away from the sting, but trying to get _more_ of it.

He is, Harry knows, very nearly _drooling_ with want at both ends - and _helpless_ to do anything about it.

“The arse on you Harry. So damn fine in those posh suits, but I’ll tell you it’s fuckin’ _stupendous_ all pretty and pink from my hand,” Eggsy quips, casually but the compliment is there, true and _strong_ , and Harry knows that Eggsy _means_ what he says.

“Tha - thank you sir,” Harry stutters, so _proud_ of the open _admiration_ he hears in his lover’s voice, and his cock twitches from thought of the picture he must make, bound to the bed, pink arse tilted upwards, _desperate._

Harry imagines he would be little recognized as a gentleman at this very moment.

“Think I ought to show some mercy and fuck you now?” Eggsy asks, conversationally, calmly, as if his fingers, slick already aren't rubbing the crack of Harry’s arse _teasingly_ , nudging inside with casual intent, and Harry is helpless but to _want_.

He cannot find it in himself to care.

“Whatever pleases you, sir,” Harry manages, so cock _achingly_ hard from the knowledge that whatever Eggsy choses he just has to _take_ it. That he cannot use his hands and his strength to pounce on him and _make_ him fuck him, because he is bound to this bed and that, unless he asks to stop, uses his safe word and ends this, he has _no control_ of what happens here.

And Harry finds he does not have any desire to do that.

“And if I’d like to hear the _great_ Harry Hart beg?” Eggsy asks, teasingly now as he breaches Harry with a second finger, scissoring his fingers in, stretching him open and _wide_ before removing them, leaving them _tauntingly_ at the edge of his hole, like he might take them away.

Like he might _stop_.

“Please, _please_ sir,” Harry says, not the Harry who must sit at a desk and send good men into dangerous situations with the knowledge they may die, but the man who watches cheesy romantic comedies with this lover and had his damn dog stuffed because he missed him, voice broken and _needy_ , “ _Please fuck me_.”

“ _Fuck Harry_ ,” He hears Eggsy choke out, and the _pride_ he feels at making his lover break, just that little bit, is quickly overwhelmed by the impossible pleasure of Eggsy’s cock as he pushes in, thickness splitting him in that _oh so perfect_ way, magnified somehow by the _stinging_ of his arse, “So _perfect_ for me.”

Harry, in that moment, speared beneath his lover, overfull and blind and helpless to move, feels _owned_.

And at that thought Harry knows it’s going to be fast, because the orgasm he can feel building at his spine, gathering strength like a hurricane will be not let it be anything but. Thankfully, Eggsy seems to feel the same way as he fucks him with _snapping_ thrusts that _sting_ against his heated arse. And then, when Harry, sightless beneath the blindfold is so _desperate_ he can barely even moan, voice _gone_ , Eggsy finally takes some measure of mercy on him and doesn’t make him ask, just _tells_ him, voice tight and yet still _commanding_ , even as Harry feels him beginning to orgasm himself, spilling hot cum into him, “ _Come_.”

And Harry does as he’s told.

When he finally comes back to himself he finds that Eggsy has already untied him, removed the blindfold and is in the process of rubbing some warmed oil over his stinging arse, hands gentle and eyes _oh so tender_.

He cannot think of a moment where he has ever felt more _cherished_.

“That okay - no triggers or nothin’?” Eggsy asks, rolling so that they can lay side to side, close enough to share breath, tone gentle but query serious.

“No,” Harry says, exhausted down to his very bones in the _best_ way, but he knows the importance of this, and so he works up the energy so that he can say, “Valentine took my control and I had no choice in the matter, no say. Here, I chose to give it to you, because I knew you would never abuse it.” And then, slow, so Eggsy knows that he _means_ it, “That rather made all the difference, you could say.”

“You’re the best thin’ to ever happen to me,” Eggsy says, voice overfull with emotion, eyes shining and somehow fierce, even as his tone is achingly soft, “Not the spy shite, but _you_.”

And _oh_ , there are no words for how Harry loves this _precious_ young man.

“And you to me,” Harry says, the only answer he can give, the only truth he has left, and then finally, with his lover’s shining eyes on him, succumbs to his need for sleep.

Harry sleeps the slumber of the dreamless, wrapped up in the warmth of his lover, safe and loved, more soundly than he ever has before.

***************************************

In the morning Harry cooks breakfast for Eggsy, who sits in Harry’s red dressing gown and sneaks JB pieces of bacon under the table. Eggsy takes his customary preposterously long hot shower, and Harry cannot find his favourite pair of oxfords.

JB, it turns out, had absconded with the left one, though he’d had the charity not to chew on it, and Harry rewards him with an extra slice of bacon accordingly.

“Ready to face another day?” Eggsy asks him, coming out their closet and fixing his own cufflinks before turning and adjusting Harry’s tie absently, as he always does on the mornings such as these, where they have the opportunity to go into work together.

And Harry stares at himself in the mirror, all suited up in his armour, the picture of _control_ , of a pristine gentleman, and sees a _Kingsman_. And then he shifts his view, just so, so that Eggsy’s profile joins him in the mirror, and sees a _man_ , loved and in love, and stupidly _happy_.

“Always, with you,” he says, terribly fondly, and means it _entirely_.

***************************************

FIN

***************************************

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, um, bdsm. Am I doing this right? And I mean that one hundred percent seriously - to people in the know, am I doing this whole bondage thing right? I figured if I’m going to continue the 50 shades au (love got me looking so crazy right now) I should see if I can even write bdsm at all, and more than one person wanted bottom Harry in some light bondage, so I figured I take it for a test drive here. This sort of devolved into “consent kink” (is that a thing?) and I’m not sure if this is considered “light bondage” because I don’t have any experience with this stuff, in literature or in life. I figured this might be given that the kinks are more mainstream bdsm, but I have no gage for this, seriously. But um, yeah, my attempts at bdsm, be what they may. I am now going to enter into a week long odyssey of 8-14 hour studying days, so I leave you with this, and know you, my lovely fellow pervs will take care of the fandom for me in my absence ;) As always, enjoy, and comments are welcome. 
> 
> P.S: Also, yes, I know I made a Mel Brooks reference in my bondage porn. I’m already booking my ticket for the special hell.


End file.
